


The Perfect Gift

by jenorama



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 21:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17630402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenorama/pseuds/jenorama
Summary: It's Hermione's birthday and Ron is having trouble coming up with the perfect gift for his wife.I wrote this last year as a birthday gift for my amazing friend, Harrysmom.





	The Perfect Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harrysmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrysmom/gifts).



Ron lurked outside the entrance to Ravenclaw tower, avoiding the haughty gaze of the bronze eagle-shaped knocker. He’d tried and failed the riddle already, drawing a derisive caw. _Stupid, bloody thing. What, Ravenclaws are too good to memorize a password?_ he thought as he waited for his daughter. 

The door opened and he stood up straighter, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smarten up a bit. A group of four students, mixed girls and boys, came out, chattering excitedly about the day ahead. One of the girls caught sight of him and she smiled and waved. “Good morning, Mr Weasley. Rose should be down soon. Do you want me to let you in?”

“Ah, no thank you, Rebecca,” he said, feeling the sting of the unsolved riddles once more. “I’ll wait here.”

Rebecca shrugged and hurried to join her friends. “Suit yourself,” she called over her shoulder.

Ron watched them walk away, black robes swinging and satchels heavy with books and parchment. For a moment, his vision doubled and it was him, Harry and Hermione walking down the spiral staircase and he shook his head. _God, how long ago was that? Thirty years?_

He was still ruminating on the passage of time when the door opened again, disgorging his sixteen-year-old daughter, looking ready for the day without a single hair out of place. “Rose, got a minute?” he asked, standing up straight once more.

“Dad? What are you doing here?” she said, brows creased in a frown. “Is Mum all right?”

“Fine! Everything’s fine. I, uh, need your help with something.” 

“You know I can’t give you the answer to the riddle,” she said, teenage condescension thick in her voice. 

Ron held back the impulse to curse and smiled instead. “I don’t need the answer to those silly riddles,” he said, walking down the staircase with her. He chose not to notice her skeptical look and got to the point. “Look, today’s your mum’s birthday and I need ideas.”

“What? You haven’t gotten anything for Mum’s birthday yet?” Shock and scandal flitted across her face before she settled into a smile that was pure Ginny.

“I’ve been busy, haven’t I?” Ron hissed, shooting a dark look at a painting. A group of finely-dressed ladies had their heads together, gossiping behind their hands. One of their number looked back at him, a superior smirk on her lips.

Rose raised a finely-shaped eyebrow at him, clearly doubtful. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“No! It more like, erm, crept up on me?” 

She heaved a sigh that clearly said, _fathers!_ and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Well, what have you come up with so far?”

“Not much.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re starting from scratch. It’s a good thing you came to me.” Her face took on an inward look as they continued down the stairs, obviously deep in thought. “Flowers? You know she loves gladiolus and dahlias.”

“Flowers are a bit, I dunno, last-minute, yeah?”

“Dad. This _is_ last-minute. Jewelry?”

“I got her those earrings for our anniversary. Anyway, she’s got loads and you know how picky she is.”

“Books?”

“Hello, she knows the library here better than Madam Pince.”

“What about that new mystery that just came out?”

Ron paused at the bottom of the stairs. Hermione did like to indulge in mysteries, but he shook his head. “Nah, something more personal. A book … she could just get it for herself. In fact, she probably has.”

Rose looked at him like he’d grown another head. “A book by an author you know someone likes can be a very good gift. In fact, once … well, never mind,” she said, her cheeks growing pink. 

“Oh, what were you going to say, daughter of mine?” Ron said, long nose practically twitching at the opportunity to embarrass her. 

“Nothing! Forget it. You’re the one who needs help here.” She switched her bag to her other shoulder and started walking faster toward the Great Hall. “Anyway, so you’ve turned down flowers, jewelry and books. How about a dinner out away from here? Or a weekend holiday? You know she loves France.”

Ron grunted. “I was just there, wasn’t I?”

Rose stopped in front of the doorway to the Great Hall, fixing her father with an incredulous look. Ron practically felt himself wilting under her gaze. “You were just there sure, but when was the last time she got to stroll along the Seine?”

“I was hardly strolling along the Seine, I was working!”

“Well, those are my suggestions, Dad. Do with them what you will.” She waved to a group of Hufflepuffs on their way in to breakfast. “I have a busy day with double Potions, so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Ron muttered. She turned to go and he put his hand on her arm. “Not too big to give your old dad a hug, are you?”

Her eyes shot around the entryway, verifying that it was deserted for the moment before giving him the fastest hug in the history of hugs. “Good luck,” she said over her shoulder as she disappeared into the Great Hall.

“What are you doing there, Dad? Is anything wrong?”

Ron looked up and saw Hugo standing in front of him, looking rumpled as usual in his Gryffindor robes. He fought the impulse to straighten his tie for him, smiling instead. “No, nothing’s wrong. I was just chatting with your sister.”

“Oh. About what?”

“It’s your mum’s birthday and I need a bit of help.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Hugo said, a superior smile on his face.

“I did not forget!” Ron shook his head at his son, crossing his arms against his chest. “Your sister said the same thing. What did you get her?”

“I got her that new mystery by that writer she likes. Should be coming by Owl Post this morning.” 

_Great. There goes my backup._ “How thoughtful of you,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Yeah, I hope she likes it.” Hugo nodded to another passing Gryffindor and leaned closer to Ron. “Um, Dad. I have a favor to ask.”

The phrase ‘A fool and his money are soon parted’ sprang to mind and he grunted. “How much?”

“Why do you have to assume this is about money?”

“Because it usually is.”

“Look, it’s just a couple Galleons, all right?”

“A couple? What do you need that much for?”

Hugo licked his lips nervously and glanced around. The crowds going into the Great Hall were beginning to thin out. “Well, it’s a Hogsmeade weekend, right? And there’s a girl …” _Of course there is._ Ron raised an eyebrow, waiting for his son to elaborate as she shifted from foot to foot in front of him. “And I wanted to, um, show her a nice time. At the weekend. In Hogsmeade.”

“And you need two Galleons? Prices have gone up at Madam Puddifoot’s!” 

Hugo looked at him, clearly aghast at the idea of stepping foot into that venerable establishment. “Oh, no way. Never.” He shrugged and swept his overlong fringe out of his eyes, trying to recover some of his teenaged aloofness. “But, I mean, Honeydukes and lunch at the Three Broomsticks. I don’t want her to think she has to order cheap, you know?”

“No, I suppose not.” Ron dug in his pocket and pulled out two coins, holding them out to his son. Hugo’s face lit up and he reached for them, but Ron drew back. “This is an advance, got it?”

“But—”

“No buts. We don’t throw money around, all right?” He handed the coins over, gratified to see Hugo’s resigned nod at the thought of going without pocket money for a month.

“Girls are expensive,” he muttered as he put the coins in his own pocket.

“Don’t I know it,” Ron said, sharing a smile with his son. 

“Thanks, Dad. I gotta get going. Double Defense today.” He held up his fist and Ron bumped it with his, mimicking Hugo’s “Pssshh” sound, glad that he could occasionally be the cool dad. “Good luck with coming up with something for Mum.”

“I’ll need it,” he muttered as he watched Hugo disappear into the Great Hall. His stomach rumbled and he strolled off towards the kitchens, wanting some privacy to think about his problem.

As usual, the house-elves were delighted to see him, ushering him to a table where a veritable parade of dishes ensued. An elf in a sparkling white Hogwarts tea towel set down a massive rack of toast in front of him and bowed. “How is Mr Weasley sir this morning?” he squeaked.

“Good morning, Woody. I’m quite well. How are you?” Ron tucked into the mushroom omelette in front of him, sighing in delight. _Spending most of the year at Hogwarts definitely has its upsides._

“Woody is well,” he piped, his overlarge ears flapping as he nodded his head. “Today is a special day. Today is Miss Professor Hermione’s birthday!”

Ron blinked, startled that the house-elf knew it as his wife’s birthday. “Yes, it is. She’ll be touched that you remembered.”

Woody bounced on the balls of his feet, making his ears flap even more. “Miss Professor Hermione has always been a friend to us. Woody wanted to know if Mr Weasley sir knew if she has any special requests for dinner tonight?”

“Oh, I can ask her, I suppose,” Ron said, slathering strawberry jam on a slice of toast. “Say, maybe you can help me.”

“Of course! Mr Weasley sir needs but say it and Woody will help.”

“Well, I haven’t gotten Hermione anything for her birthday yet and I’m having trouble coming up with something I think she’d like,” Ron said, leaning in closer to Woody.

He nodded solemnly, house-elf face pursed in a look of concentration. “Woody understands Mr Weasley sir’s trouble. Miss Professor Hermione can be very particular.” He crossed his arms against his small chest and Ron let him think. _It’s a long shot, but you never know,_ he thought, continuing to plow through his breakfast. 

“Woody knows!” the house-elf said, perking up. “Perhaps Miss Professor Hermione would enjoy a gift of yarn so she could take up her knitting again?”

Ron grinned and shook his head. Hermione’s determined efforts to give the Hogwarts house-elves the opportunity for freedom was the stuff of legend. None of them ever took her up on the poorly-knitted hats she left strewn around the Gryffindor common room, but they appreciated the effort and craftsmanship in creating them. “That’s a good idea, Woody, but she hasn’t done any knitting in years.”

Woody looked a little disappointed, but accepted his statement. “Woody will let Mr Weasley sir know if we find a good idea. Mr Weasley sir will let Woody know if Miss Professor Hermione would like a special dinner?”

“Of course.” The house-elf grinned, showing surprisingly sharp teeth and bowed once more. With that, Woody left Ron to finish his breakfast as he joined the legions of house elves in the organized chaos of the kitchens. A little bit later, Ron sent his dishes over to the enormous stone sink (where a very vigorous magical washing up process was under way) and strode from the kitchens before the tiny army noticed his departure.

The hallways were deserted, breakfast done, and students in classes as Ron sloped off toward the quarters he and Hermione shared in the castle. He passed several paintings on the way, including the one of Sir Cadogan. “Ah, young Mr Weasley,” the little knight called, galloping up on his fat pony, his voice muffled by his helmet visor. “I understand it’s your lady wife’s birthday today?”

Ron sighed. _Great, now the whole castle knows I’m rubbish at gifts._ “Yeah, make sure you wish her a happy birthday when you see her,” he said, speeding up as he ascended the stone stairs.

Undeterred, Sir Cadogan followed him, scattering a flock of sheep and startling the sleeping shepherd boy. “I have it on good authority that you need some help in obtaining a suitable gift for her. I don’t mean to brag, but I have been known to be an extraordinary gift-giver.”

_Where would a painting get a gift?_ “Oh yeah? You got any ideas for me?”

“Why of course! What lady doesn’t love a bolt of the finest cloth-of-gold from the far east? It would be a stunning fabric for her to do her fancy work upon and she would think of you every time she sat near the window to work upon it,” the little knight said proudly.

Ron thought about pointing out that Hermione was not only the Transfiguration professor at the oldest Wizarding school in Britain, but also head of Gryffindor house—and thus did not really engage in “fancy work”, whatever that was. But he was trying to be helpful in his own way, and Ron had always had a bit of a soft spot for the earnest knight. “Thank you very much for the suggestion. I’ll get down to Diagon Alley straightaway.” Sir Cadogan puffed out his chest and set his heels to his pony, racing away in a cloud of satisfaction. 

Once safely inside their quarters and away from the prying eyes of the artful inhabitants of the school, Ron collapsed down in his desk chair, looking at the pile of paperwork on top of his desk. He was supposed to be reading depositions and he picked up a folder, opening it only to set it back down again. He leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling and waited for inspiration to strike.

_Well, I mean, I don’t have to get her anything. She knows I love her,_ he thought, envisioning the disappointment on her face when she realized a birthday gift wasn’t coming from him. _She always does the perfect thing for me, though._ His last birthday she’d treated him to a ski weekend in Switzerland for just the two of them. _Though the apres-ski was the best part …_

A heat rushed through his belly as he thought of that weekend. Just the two of them in the suite, the roaring fire casting shifting orange light on Hermione’s face as they pretended to play chess on the thick rug. The chess pieces flew through the air as Hermione swept them aside to push Ron over onto his back before the sound of her laughter morphed into sighs and groans as he kissed and touched her everywhere he could lay his lips and hands.

_All these years and my favorite place is still with her._ He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “I’ve come over all sentimental,” he said to the empty room. His gaze wandered over the bookshelves in the little office they shared. They were full of books, naturally, but also framed photographs and little knickknacks from their travels together as a family. One picture caught his eye and he went over to it before picking it up for a closer look. 

_Oh, this was at the Burrow! God, look at how huge she was!_ Ron smiled fondly at the picture of him, Rose and Hermione. It was summer and she was hugely pregnant with Hugo, looking somehow both exhausted and radiant as she stood next to him underneath the ancient oak tree in his parents’s back garden. As he watched, her face changed from a calm smile to horror as he tried to get toddler Rose to stand on his shoulders. Picture Ron looked sheepishly at him as Hermione grabbed the child away from him before settling her securely on her hip. He could practically hear her saying, “Honestly, Ronald!”

“Man, if that tree could talk,” he said, setting the frame carefully back down on the shelf. He stood staring at the picture as the little family drama endlessly played out, seeing the Hermione in his mind’s eye running as fast as she could in front of him, ridiculous feathers in her hair. He caught up to her, arms closing around her like steel bands, his heart feeling like it was going to burst right out of his chest as he held his prize. The frogs sang their chorus as he lowered his mouth to hers in a sweet, soft kiss.

Ron sighed, well aware of the silly grin spreading across his face as he thought of that first kiss under that old tree. A moment later, a jolt shot through him and he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! The perfect gift.” 

He moved like a tornado though their quarters, quickly picking up the things he’d need and shoving them into an old knapsack. He checked his watch, but after seeing that it was too early for Hermione’s first break, he decided to send his Patronus to her classroom. _See if you can get someone to keep an eye on Gryffindor tonight._

As he was hustling out of the main entrance to the castle, her otter gamboled up to him and he touched the nose, her voice exploding in his mind. _What have you got up your sleeve?_

_Patience, dear professor._ He sent his Patronus scampering back into the classroom and continued on his way to Hogsmeade. In an instant, he was at their cottage on the Dorset coast, picking up the pile of magazines Hermione still subscribed to on the floor in front of the mail slot. 

“Now the question is, do I still have it?” Ron said to the empty house as he went into the bedroom he and Hermione shared, rifling through all of the drawers until he found what he was looking for. “Good thing I never throw anything away!”

***  
Ron lay on his back, looking up at the multitude of stars through the branches of the old oak tree. His stomach was pleasantly full of cold fried chicken, roasted potatoes and chocolate mousse cake. “Careful, love,” he grunted as Hermione laid her head on his stomach, “I might explode.”

“I told you not to eat so much,” she admonished, rolling over to look at him. The feather sticking up in her hair looked ridiculous and he smiled, drawing his finger down her cheek. 

“Since when have I listened to good sensible advice like that?” he asked, putting his other hand behind his head.

“Since never,” she snorted, taking his hand and kissing the back of it before settling back down on his stomach. 

“You’ll always try, though.”

“My bossy nature always wins through.” 

“You’re not so bad. You’ve really mellowed out as you’ve aged.” Ron chuckled she thumped him on his chest.

“As long as I can still inspire fear in my students, I’ll be fine.” 

“They don’t fear you. Who could fear someone as adorable as you?” 

“Stop it. You’ll make me vain,” she said in a voice that clearly meant for him to go on.

“Hey, question for you, who’s giving our daughter books?” Ron asked, partly to thwart Hermione in her quest for praise and partly in genuine curiosity.

“What brought that up?”

“Had a bit of a chat with her before breakfast this morning.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Erm … well, that’s father-daughter privileged information.”

“You were asking her for gift ideas, weren’t you?”

“Blasted woman. Suppose I was. She brought up that author you like, Galbraith or whatever and said something about how a book by an author you know someone likes is a great gift and then she got all quiet. Is there something I should know?”

“Well, she is a young woman and she does need her privacy …” 

“Hermione. Will you please tell me what boy I need to loom over?” Ron asked, propping himself up on his elbows to look at his wife.

“You will not go looming over anyone. The last thing I need is Rose crying in my office about how awful her father is.”

“Fine. No looming, I swear. Now who is it that’s buying my daughter books by authors she likes?”

“Joseph Andrews.”

“The Hufflepuff Beater? Isn’t he a seventh year?” Ron constructed the image of Joseph Andrews in his mind’s eye. _Around 5 feet ten, brown hair, brown eyes, stocky, right-handed, no visible scars, respectful, decent marks … could be worse, I suppose._

“So don’t make a big deal out of it, all right? You know how she is.” Hermione was quiet for a moment before sighing. “And I suppose I should tell you that Hugo has been chatting up a Slytherin.”

“What? He chiseled two Galleons out of me this morning for a _Slytherin_?” 

“Two Galleons? For what?” Hermione asked, sitting up to look at him.

“He said for the Hogsmeade weekend. Wanted to show her a good time. But a Slytherin, really? Who?”

“Angela MacDougal. Same year as Hugo. Quite pretty. I think they have History of Magic and Potions together this year.” Hermione tapped Ron on the shoulder at his frown. “Don’t look like that. So she’s a Slytherin. It’s not like when we were at school.” 

Ron lay back down and held out his arms, wrapping them around Hermione when she snuggled her had on his shoulder. “I know. Old prejudices die hard, yeah?”

“Yeah. Draco was in to see McGonagall the other day.”

Ron’s lip curled. “What did he want?”

“Board business was all he told me.” Hermione sighed, sliding her hand underneath his shirt to rub his belly. “I don’t blame you for holding a grudge against Draco, but you have to admit his son is charming.”

“Hm, more Astoria than Draco in that one.” He put his hand over hers, pressing it down. “Do me a favor, love. Never mention that git’s name when we’re alone together ever again, all right?”

“What would you have me do instead?” she asked, breath warm against his neck, making the little hairs stand up straight.

“That rubbing you were doing was nice.” He turned over on his side, cupping his hand on her cheek. She looked solemnly back at him, fingers tracing a random pattern on his skin. “What?” he asked through the sudden thickness in his throat.

“Thank you for setting this up,” she said, kissing him on his cheek. “The floating candles were a nice touch.”

“You’re welcome. Did you like your gifts?”

She lifted her hand and felt at the goose feather quill she’d stuck in her hair to secure her bun. “Well, I haven’t really used a quill in ages, but it’s a very fine one.”

“And the other thing?”

“A used shirt?”

“Vintage, love. Isn’t that what the kids call that sort of thing?” He ran his hand down her flank, gratified at the shiver he felt go through her as he slipped up underneath the hem of his old Chudley Cannons shirt. He had to admit the orange color looked much better on her than it ever had did on him. “You were right,” he whispered as he pulled her closer.

“About what?” Hermione asked in a breathless gasp.

“This shirt _is_ about the sexiest thing you could wear.” He fastened his mouth on her throat, lips vibrating at her laugh.

“Whatever happened to that book?” she wondered aloud. “I don’t think I ever saw it again after that night.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” Ron murmured, trailing his tongue down to where her neck met her shoulder. He bit down lightly and got a pinch for his efforts.

“No marks,” Hermione admonished. “I don’t need McGonagall giving me that look over her glasses.”

“McGonagall,” Ron huffed. “Flitwick’s worse. Those eyes of his see everything and I know he’s a terrible gossip.”

“All the more reason.” He felt her nimble fingers at work on the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning it from the bottom up and spreading it open, the nighttime air cool against his skin. 

“That’s hardly fair; you have two tops on,” Ron grumbled, his questing hands stymied by the bodice of her sundress.

“Easily remedied.” Hermione sat up and drew his old tee shirt off, upsetting her bun in the process. He plucked the quill out of her hair and ran the soft feather over his lips as he watched her slip the straps of her sundress down until the bodice revealed her full breasts.

Ron was sure his heart was going to beat out of his chest at the sight of her in the golden light of the floating candles. He could see the goosebumps all over her skin and felt them rise on his own in response as he sat up and let his shirt fall off his shoulders, eager to feel her skin against his. Wrapping her up in his arms, he bore her gently down to the blanket, lips fastened to hers, his pulse roaring in his ears. A memory washed over him of how the two of them had looked all those years ago, locked in an embrace and Ron experienced a wave of vertigo. _Jesus, if I’d known then what I know now…_

Hermione sighed as he traced a path down her neck to her breasts and showered them with kisses. She occasionally got upset at how they just weren’t the same anymore after nursing two babies, but to him, they were perfect. Her fingers in his hair tightened their grip as he sucked first on one nipple before moving on to the other one that he knew from long experience was much more sensitive. She started moving her hips underneath him, her hands drifting down to his jeans-covered bum when she gave a pained squeak.

“What’s wrong? Too hard?” he asked looking up at her.

“No, no, you’re fine. I think I have a stone underneath my lower back.” She winced and wiggled a little bit to the side, the motion of her breasts distracting him. “And now I’m in a hole.” 

“Cushioning charm?” Ron reached for his wand, but Hermione shook her head, putting her arms around his neck.

“Don’t you feel a bit strange, snogging out here on your mum and dad’s property?”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Love, when I was a teenager, that was _all_ I thought about, yeah? Ways to get you alone and just snog the daylights out of you.”

She cast her eyes towards the house, windows glowing with warm light. “What if they get curious about what we’re doing out here?”

“Hermione. They know what we’re doing out here. Trust me, they are not curious.”

“That’s even worse.”

Ron heaved a sigh and rolled over onto his back, settling his wife on top of him. “What do you want to do then? In addition to the quill and the shirt, I’d planned on giving you a proper rogering for your birthday.” He frowned and shifted around. “Bloody hell, there are a bunch of rocks right here.”

Propping herself up on her arms, Hermione smiled down at him, her hair falling in a curtain around her face. “Let’s go to the cottage. We haven’t been there on our own in forever. It’s always school holidays with the children.”

A slow smile spread across his face and he swept the loose hair behind her ear, drawing her mouth down to his. “You are brilliant,” he murmured against her lips.

“What about all this stuff?”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll pop round in the morning and pick it up. Take the basket back to Hogwarts and give Woody and his bunch a proper thanks.” Giddy, Ron stood and tossed the plates and wineglasses back into the huge Hogwarts picnic basket as Hermione fixed the top of her dress. A wave of his wand snuffed the floating candles and he took her hand in his, grinning as he Apparated them to their cottage.

With their lips fastened together, they stumbled down the hallway until Ron hit his head on the wall and gave up on trying to walk and kiss at the same time. He heaved a sigh and picked up Hermione, slinging her over his shoulder. Her laughter propelled him down the hallway and into their bedroom where she slithered down his front to lie on the cozy bed in front of him.

“No rocks here,” she said, patting the space next to her invitingly, and more laughter erupted when he dove down on the bed next to her, grabbing her up and smothering her in kisses. 

“Why do you have all of these pillows?” Ron grabbed two of the frilly, lacy things in one hand and tossed them across the room.

“They make the bed look nice,” Hermione said, sounding a little out of breath as she threw another pillow to follow the other two.

“Who cares what it looks like when you’re not in it?”

“God, Ron, you can be so _corny_ sometimes!”

“I can’t help it when I’m around you, love,” Ron said, grinning down at her, admiring the cloud of disarrayed brown hair that surrounded her face.

“Please try.” Ron chuckled and made short work of the bodice of her dress, exposing her breasts to his questing fingers and mouth once more. It was much warmer in the cottage and he felt a fine sweat break out on his back as she groaned underneath him, her nails digging into his skin.

“No fair,” he mumbled around a mouthful of breast, “you said no marks.”

“I doubt Flitwick will be looking under your shirt.” Hermione smirked down at him, lifting an eyebrow. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me?”

“Not about him. Sinestra, now there’s one …” he said, breaking off in a laugh when she tapped him right between the eyes.

“Enough of your chatter, young man,” she said sternly, giving him her teacher look, a look that was strong enough to not be compromised in the least either by the setting or her current state of half-undress. 

“What are you going to do? Make me write lines?” He bent his head and kissed the full side of her breast as he trailed his hand down her side, sneaking up underneath the skirt of her dress. “Clean the erasers?” He felt the lacy edge of her knickers and slid first one finger and then another underneath, giving her the lightest stroke of his fingertips. 

“I’ll make you …” she sighed as she spread her legs for him, inviting him to touch her more thoroughly. 

“Make me what, love?” Ron asked, breath hot against her skin. He loved seeing her like this, so gloriously undone by his touch. So much time spent at Hogwarts in those prim robes, always neat as a pin with her hair and glasses just so … sometimes it drove him mad and his fingers just ached to take those robes off and release her hair from the severe style she usually wore for class.

Hermione just groaned and pulled him up for a kiss, making him feel like she was trying to steal his breath away with her urgency. A moment later, it seemed like her hands were everywhere, and before he knew it, he was completely starkers. Hermione hovered over him, gently stroking his hard cock up and down, eyes fixed on his.

“Hang on a minute, it’s your birthday,” he said, although he was thoroughly enjoying the feeling of her hand wrapped around him.

“And I just unwrapped the perfect gift.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Now who’s being corny?”

“You’ll be thanking me in about twenty seconds.”

Lifting an eyebrow, he sat up on his elbows. “Twenty seconds? Someone’s confident.”

“Someone has been waiting for you to get back from Paris.” Ron sucked in a breath when her warm mouth descend upon him and she worked her own special magic until he was a heaving, quivering mess inside of what he was sure was twenty seconds. She brought him to the edge of coming so many times that he was very glad they were alone in the cottage.

Feeling like his bollocks were about to burst, Ron begged Hermione to stop. He watched as she shimmied out of her dress before standing next to the bed to pull down her knickers in a slow tease. Sitting up, he reached for her, settling his hands on her hips and pulling her close; he rested his head on her chest as he enjoyed her simple presence. He kissed his way down her body, paying special attention to her belly, knowing full well that the looseness of the skin bothered her, but he didn’t care; it was all part and parcel of her. 

“You smell so good, love,” he murmured against her ribs, sliding a hand in between her legs, a visceral thrill running through him at how wet she was. While supporting her with an arm around her waist, he buried his fingers inside of her before rubbing his thumb over her clit until she was shaking on her feet, clinging tightly to his shoulders as she came apart in his hands. Looking up at her, he sucked on two of his fingers, all the while grinning at her blush. “Taste good too.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispered, reaching her hand out to his still-hard cock. Soft kisses made his heart beat faster, his senses overwhelmed with the sheer presence of her. “Lie back, love.” Hermione pushed at his shoulder, sending him backwards onto the bed, cock standing straight up, a drop of precum glistening at the tip. 

“It’s your birthday, though,” he protested weakly as his wife straddled him. The moonlight coming in through the curtains made her look like some sort of otherworldly creature. She sank down onto him, and he answered her satisfied grunt with one of his own. They moved together in the familiar rhythm of longtime lovers, Hermione sensing when to slow down and speed back up. Ron was far from idle, sweeping his hands over her breasts, using his thumbs to make her nipples stand up in hard points. 

“Touch me, Ron,” Hermione gasped, taking his hand and guiding him to where they were joined. A soft sigh turned into a moan as he rubbed her clit, his heart racing in his chest as she came with a series of shudders. 

Sitting up, he pulled her close to him, holding on tightly until she was no longer shaking in his arms. Barely hanging on by a thread himself, Ron gently shifted them around until he was poised above her, hands planted firmly on the headboard to give his pushes the power they both craved. She looked so small underneath him, but her body hummed with strength and she met his eyes fearlessly as they crashed together.

Ron felt like his blood was on fire as Hermione moved underneath him, her soft cries and his loud breaths filling the room. Knowing he had only seconds left, he slid his hands underneath his wife and held her close to him, the feeling of her sweat-slicked skin sliding against his the last thing he needed to put him over the top. He felt her sharp teeth biting into his shoulder as he came with several low grunts.

“All right?” she whispered in his ear, arms and legs wrapped securely around him. 

“God yes, brilliant.” He sucked hard on her neck in open rebellion of her ‘no marks’ policy, pulling back to admire his work. She put her hand over it and glared at him and he gave her a cheeky grin. “Sorry, love. I had to.”

Hermione merely harrumphed and set about disengaging herself from him, leaving him bereft of her surrounding warmth. She stood up next to the bed before reaching out for his shoulder to steady herself. “Shower with me before bed?”

After spending entirely too long in the shower, they went to bed completely naked, a luxury they couldn’t really indulge in up at Hogwarts since Hermione had to be ready for just about anything the Gryffindors could get up to. Ron closed his eyes, tired contentment sweeping over him with Hermione cuddled at his side. “Good birthday?” he asked, kissing the top of her head.

“Spectacular,” she said in a tired murmur.

“Sorry it wasn’t something more fancy.”

“No, love, it was perfect. I don’t need anything fancy, you know that.”

“Good, because if you were hoping for fancy, you’ve married the wrong bloke.” Hermione shook with silent laughter and hugged him tight across his middle. 

“I married the right bloke for me, all right?”

“Damned right.”

The next morning, Ron hustled down the stairs towards the front doors of the castle. They had slept later than intended at the cottage and he still had to make a trip out to the Burrow to gather up the picnic things to return. His face burned to see the blanket and his shirt folded with the goose feather quill sitting neatly on top. 

Now he was running late for the deposition he had scheduled two weeks ago. He put on a bit more speed, angling across the stairs to avoid a group of slow-moving third years. “Dad! Dad, hang on!” He looked over his shoulder to see Rose heading straight for him and he slowed, but didn’t stop.

“Good morning, Rose,” Ron said, noting the line of worry in between her brows.

“Where were you last night?” she said without preamble. “I came by after dinner and neither you nor Mum was there.”

“I took your mum out for her birthday last night,” Ron said, and the memory of Hermione underneath him made him glad he was already wearing his solicitor’s robes.

“Did you have a nice time? What did you end up getting her?” Rose asked, genuine curiosity on her face.

“Oh, just a new quill and a shirt,” he said, chuckling inwardly as her curiosity changed to confusion. 

“Um, okay. I’m sure she liked them very much.”

Ron grinned at his daughter. _Someday she’ll understand._ “She said it was the perfect gift.”


End file.
